


Saxophone Solo in Green Minor

by Nico_Weetch



Category: Original Work
Genre: 2021 outlet, Abstract, Diary/Journal, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Other, Poetic, Poetry, Snippets, a creative 2020 outlet, cathartic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:07:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26544976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nico_Weetch/pseuds/Nico_Weetch
Summary: A collection of writings.





	1. The Cellist in the Apartment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written (originally on Tumblr), Feb 4th 2020.

I was going to use this moment of quiet to transcribe some writing I did on my phone to the chapter I'm working on, but then I got distracted by the fact that: In the apartment building where I’m temporarily staying at I can hear someone practicing the cello. 

And it’s just...just divine, and I just adore these small moments. I like to think of them as warm moments of humanity where...well..it’s through art that we really do connect to one another isn’t it?

If it wasn’t for this person practicing their cello, I wouldn’t be here typing about it...slowly fantasizing an AU, but mainly fantasizing a romance of meeting this cellist. 

Saying hello, saying thank you, not expecting more than a smile...

and maybe...maybe if something more did click and transpire...well...maybe to go and grab coffee together, and talk about string instruments...or something..

“Are you part of an orchestra at the moment? Is this a hobby? Are you getting back into playing the cello slowly? Reconnecting with your long lost instrument and the movement of fingers? Shall we..shall we compare calluses on our fingertips? Mine are soft and faded now, but still, like a phantom touch, I still feel my fingertips tingle...I want to play the violin again someday...How many languages do you know? What are your favorite books? Do you like fiction, non-fiction? No, no I won’t be here long, but perhaps we can meet again. Would you like to use my chapstick? It sure is cold in London.”

And maybe we’ll never meet again...or maybe, if the connection was strong...we might swap gloves and promise to meet again - but that’s far too fanciful to be reality, best left to a movie like Serendipity...and yet...I sit, and wonder, drink coffee, and try to remember if the sky really is blue and not just fragments of gray and faded purple...

and I smile and think, yes...despite it all...the sky is still blue.

And the clouds open up, if only for a moment.


	2. [Sounds Pending]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written (originally on tumblr), March 5th 2020.

On the matter of different night sounds

at least that’s what I wanted this to be about

The difference between a bed in Leyton and a bed in Uxbridge

Leyton, there’s a car under the window, a double decker that passes on its nightly march, obnoxious as a refrigerator. I’m not a fan, and my village girl heart does not appreciate the pretend silence of a city’s night. The en garde fox in its travel, slinking from back alley to back alley. A turned over trashcan. 

Uxbridge, the quiet is deafening, but so there so present I could touch it. Silence is my lover who I embrace fully, entirely, as sensual as the barn owl flies. Deep in the night as the quarterly moon passes by my bedroom window. Silence is there caressing my hair, and my ears relax from their stretching. 

My rabbit heart lessens its pace, anxiety soothed, I burrow deeper into my warren of pillows.

Whilst in the city, I sleep in a den, and my teeth grow sharper.


	3. 30 Seconds To...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> originally written (and collected cobwebs and haunted me in my drafts since) 2018.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anonymity names have been reduced to letters. 
> 
> cw: discusses the 2018 Paradise and Butte fires. (There's also alcohol, weed, and the inappropriate use of hot sauce.)

We were having a BBQ. The night was cold enough in California for some to regret wearing t-shirts. The electric fire pit was burning, the grill was cooking a variety of meats and vegetables. D, the host, thought it would be smart to leave around Hot One’s sauce and Mad Dog sauce for anyone to use.

It wasn’t used responsibly. Or rather, it was used as responsibly as it was expected a few beers and some weed in.

Then again J., an aspiring firefighter who didn’t have beer nor weed still managed to get sauce in his nose.

Needless to say, half the guests would disappear moments and hours at a time. Whether to dry heave over a curb, use the bathroom. Or desperately try and get sauce out of their eyes and genitalia.

Yes, genitalia. (Wash your hands, friends).

It was later revealed K. and another guest pulled a chaotic stunt to dab the sauce on random meats, or the bottom of hamburger buns.

Many became lost in the sauce, others lost _to_ the sauce. J. returned two hours later claiming to have had a religious experience. He then hit his vape, (he’d call ‘the jewel’) and adjusted his periwinkle fisherman’s hat with eyes redder than smeared ketchup.

I wish I was making this up. 

Before the BBQ, A., K., and myself were having a brunch at Bob’s Big Boy. K. insisted she treated us since A. and I helped her through her bad inebriation two nights before at a cast party.

A. and I complied after much debate. We joked, and laughed.

The fire came up. Specifically, the fact that people were looting in Malibu.

“I have half a nerve to drive over and join in!” joked A. between a bite of bacon. “You guys, Malibu’s lit!”

“Oof! Oh my god.”

A. was staying with D. for the time being. A.’s house was in Butte.

More fire puns followed, mostly lead by A.

Back to the BBQ, while some revisited the bathroom for their burning insides, the rest would revisit some nostalgia music with Fall Out Boy, and Brendon Urie.

A., I., a few others, and myself started to get high. Being close to the outside tv we started changing the music up, to tunes leading more and more to the obscure.

A. and I improvised an entire bit about 30 Seconds to Mars, while said band was playing.

“How many trial and errors did it take for them to find out it would only take them 30 seconds to get to Mars?”

“They _clearly_ know something we don’t.”

“Did NASA chip in with their discoveries?”

“Shit, they probably got there on those bikes.”

“Holy shit.”

“???”

“You’re right.”

“ _Shit_.”

I couldn’t remember the name to the music video if I tried. It was something about bikes. We’d replay our comedic bit to anyone who would wander close enough to either of us.

“Cause it didn’t take them 20 seconds.”

“No sir!”

“Did it take them 10?”

“Nu-uh baby!”

At this we’d pause and give our best impression of the female hormone monster from Big Mouth, “Not even with a _Bubble Bath_.”

“How many seconds?!”

Together we’d sing, “Thirtyyyyyyyyy~!”

The night went longer, another joint was passed. The music more abstract, slowly turning into a very strange interpretive dance jazz session.

Someone started playing BadBadNotGood, introduced all of us to the band. Their music was like a mixture of 60/70′s exciting getaway scenes, a slow motion Cowboy Bebop fight sequence, and realizing maybe the void is just a puddle in life we occasionally stick our foot into.

During one song in particular, BadBadNotGood’s ‘IV’, I had A. cracking up as I mimed a getaway scene on jet skis, that somehow turned into snow skis. Felt particularly proud of pretending to do one of those ski jumps.

At some point D. walked over to say our music choice was shit, and he was slowly loosing it. It was fair, and looking up some of the music we were listening to that night afterwards, _extremely_ understandable.

Later that same night, with the music changed, and a return to the less interpretive, I found A. standing alone staring at the fence. There were vines growing on it, and paint splatters from D.’s work.

I walked up and asked A., gently, “Are you doing okay?”

And with eyes brimming with tears she had been trying to hold back for three days. To hold back for her mother, her wife, and her daughter. A. nodded sorrowfully.

“My house is on fire.” she explained.

Explained with such simplicity, it shattered me.

In moments like these, I’ve never been as eloquent as I want to be. And in that moment, there were no words of consolation I could give that didn’t feel repetitive, or even shallow.

So I hugged her. I hugged her tight and let her cry in my arms. We stayed like that for some time. Me swaying, rocking her slightly as I rubbed her back, and A. gently weeping in my shoulder.

In time the gas in the propane tank of the electric fire pit ran out. The fire itself, naturally and slowly extinguishing itself. Guests finding their way back to the BBQ with almond milk, and sniffles.

I’m sorry A.

I wish I could’ve done more than hug you.

Those hotdogs we cheered with afterwards were damn good.

And you always know where to find my arms.


	4. N/A

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written, now, actually.

Time is a Salvador Dalí piece.

And I'm in the wrong painting. 

Time is an Impressionistic work. 

My Dalí mustache is growing. 

I have yet to be able to perfectly chronicle time.

I think that's the point.

The only artist who got it right, was Frida Kahlo. 


	5. Belly-up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imagined last summer 2020. Followed me since. 
> 
> Cw: animal death (snake).

It was a dangerously hot this. I remember it. The same day I watched a crow peck at something in the distance. I was walking my dogs with someone. Cicadas and bugs chirped under the sun like a greek chorus. 

There had been a lot of construction going on lately in the neighborhood. This is being mentioned because when a lot of construction occurs on a saved plot of land - sometimes it uproots snake nests. 

This is being mentioned because on the asphalt was a dead snake. A garden snake from the green scales of it. Not that I could see the scales too well. All I remember seeing was the white belly. Facing the sky with the above 100 degrees of heat and humidity.

It didn't move, didn't react to either myself, the dogs, or my companion walking towards it. 

"Oh no, it's dead." I said looking down at it, sad. While trying to keep my dogs from sniffing it. 

"It's not dead." said my companion. Very sure of themself. And perhaps only half paying attention.

"What?" I said, dumbstruck. I pointed as if that would make the evidence clearer. All signs pointed to death. Surely. "But it's clear as day. Belly up and everything. It's dead. Poor thing."

My companion finally graced the snake with attention, looking up from their phone. "Could be pretending. Sometimes snakes do that you know."

"Well..I guess you're right." I frowned. I didn't know enough about snakes to say something clever. I wish I did. It didn't seem right, not with a garden snake at least. It didn't feel right either. 

I kept staring, I remember that, even now, I was searching for any sign that it would still be alive. Breathing at some capacity at least. I wish I had worn my glasses.

"Come on, let's go." my companion scoffed. "I hate this heat."

I frowned, and kept walking...hating myself with every step. 

Distantly, I wondered if this could be a metaphor or something. 


	6. Head Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a horny poem.

I wish to be fucked so bad right now  
Like please just peg me already  
Someone tie me down and take me to church  
With my eyes blindfolded  
I don’t want to see what is about to happen to me  
I want to feel it  
God  
Please  
If you’re out there  
Eat me out  
And pray to yourself


	7. Blast from the past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written May 7th, 2019 on tumblr - after my wisdom tooth was removed
> 
> pretty sure I was still a bit loopy when I posted this.

# Guess who had their wisdom tooth removed

Me! This beautiful wonderous bitch that writes before you.

Come join me in the festivities of removal, of calcium rebellion. No longer weighed by the stress and inflammation of yesterday.

PRESS ON SWEET DOVES!

Embrace this day as our mouth starts a new. Numb but yearning with kisses.

My lips wait for thee,

my teeth post yeeted

From the root!

Relevation, Rejuvination, Reconsilliation

Now pass the Hagen Däs

We feast a new mouth!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My tags were wonderful. And I'm very proud of them ldkfgj: 
> 
> #wisdom tooth removed #silly billy #poetry #writing #ppppppfff #shitpost O Clock #maaaaaaaan walking through publix was a /TRIP/ #im astounded and affronted there was no hazelnut ice cream #oh well time to eat chocolate fudge #and pour some nutella in it like the hero i am! #💪💪💪💪


End file.
